


Books & Freedom

by PallasRubiaOrigins



Category: Labyrinth (1986)
Genre: Ballroom Dancing, Bisexuality, Books, Bookstores, Dancing, Decapitation, Dreams and Nightmares, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff, Français | French, Male Homosexuality, Non-Graphic Smut, Storytelling, Swearing, Switzerland, Vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-10
Updated: 2021-02-10
Packaged: 2021-03-16 23:42:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 17,599
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29340759
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PallasRubiaOrigins/pseuds/PallasRubiaOrigins
Summary: Sarah accidentally wishes to get lost in a story. Jareth is only too happy to oblige. Will she ever find her way out? Will she want to?
Relationships: Jareth/Sarah Williams, John Blaylock/Sarah Williams, Sarah Williams (Labyrinth) & Original Character(s)
Kudos: 22





	1. Books - Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own anything related to the movie Labyrinth (1986) or the movie The Hunger (1983)  
> I am not making any money from writing this story, it is merely meant to amuse myself and others.  
> Please do not repost my stories without my consent.
> 
> Spoiler: John Blaylock makes an appearance in this fic, but does not survive beyond chapter 6. He willingly sacrified himself for the plot. He was very gracious about it.

Sarah walked leisurely along the winding cobblestone streets. The afternoon was pleasantly warm, although the sky behind the mountain peaks in the distance was slowly turning a steel grey. A storm was brewing and she could smell the ozone already on the breeze. She wasn't worried about getting wet though; she would be on a plane above the clouds by the time it would start raining.

The quaint Swiss town was too nice to not explore during the only half-day of free time she had on this business trip. And what better way to soak up the local atmosphere than by wandering around? She couldn't really get lost: the village wasn't that big, and to find her hotel she just had to walk down the hill towards the Lake.

All in all she was enjoying a relaxed, carefree couple of hours. Well-deserved and gratefully accepted. She loved her job as a book editor and the places it took her, but she also knew she worked too much. She really needed to take her mind off her responsibilities more often.

She snorted. Whenever she wasn't working, she was reading, or wrangling all those plot bunnies that hopped around in her head at night and dug holes in her sleep. The stories never ended one way or another.

Turning a corner into an even narrower street – an alley really – she spotted books in a grimy shop window. The name of the shop was written in curly white script across the glass:

**Libros & Libertas.**

Sarah's reflection patiently waited for her to translate the Latin in her head.

_Books and freedom. That's a nice name for a shop._

In the corner of the window a piece of paper was taped to the inside. She had to look closely to decipher the French hand-writing:

**Cessation d'activité. Achêtez un livre, recevrez deux offerts.**

_Closing down. Buy one book, get two free._

The message saddened her. Another small independent shop closing. And a book shop to boot. She sighed. There was nothing she could do about it. But she could at least take a look inside. She had already bought various gifts for her friends and family, but there was always space for another book in her luggage.

An old-fashioned bell tingled when she pushed open the worn wooden door. A white-haired man was seated behind the counter, reading.

“Bonjour,” she said.

The man looked up at Sarah for a moment, mumbled something that might have been 'bienvenue', then returned his attention to his prose.

The shop was bigger than she had expected from the outside. It was narrow, but quite deep. The wooden cabinets and shelves were marked with labels in the same calligraphic hand-writing as the notice in the window. The air inside had that special odour specific to book shops: paper, ink, and a bit of dust.

Sarah checked the time on her phone. She still had half and hour or so, before she had to go back to her hotel to pick up her trolley and head to the train station and then the airport.

She slowly walked past the shelves, bending her head this way and that to read the titles on the spines of the books. Mostly French editions, but she also spotted some English and German authors. She could read all three languages and enjoyed each of them for their own character. If at all possible, she tried to read books in their original language before reading or even editing an English translation, just so that she could experience the nuances that may have gotten lost in translation.

On the shelf with children's books, she found an illustrated edition of 'Le Petit Prince' by Antoine de Saint-Exupéry. She already owned a copy of this masterpiece, but she decided to buy it anyway; it would make for a nice gift at some point.

From the bottom shelf of the cabinet marked 'SF et merveilleux' she pulled out a book with a hauntingly beautiful drawing on the front cover. She read the summary on the back. It said 'Tome 1' which meant it was the first book in a series. She pursed her lips, considering. She didn't like to buy single books from a series, as it was sometimes hard to find the other parts, and she hated not knowing how a story ended. That's how she sometimes found herself reading books that weren't even that great; she just couldn't abandon a story mid-way. But this one really tempted her.

She checked the time again. 25 minutes had passed without her noticing. Book shops had that effect on her. They were timeless spaces. She looked around at the shelves she hadn't even perused yet and imagined them empty, the books maybe carted off to be recycled.

_Such a pity..._

She approached the old man at the entrance and put her two choices on the curved wooden counter, its surface worn smooth by thousands of hands touching it over the years.

“I would like to buy these two, please,” Sarah said, then added: “S'il-vous plaît, monsieur.” She spoke fluent French, but always defaulted to English out of sheer habit.

The man stood up and put the book he had been reading on the high stool behind him. His white hair made him look deceptively older. When she had come in, she would have guessed he was in his seventies. But now that he looked at her over the rim of his spectacles, she would give him rather 40, _at most_ 45.

“Anglaise?” he asked in Swiss-accented French.

“Américaine,” she answered.

The man nodded and hummed as if he had expected that answer. Sarah wasn't sure what to make of it. Some Europeans held deep-rooted stereotypes against Americans, but then again, she had been told that the Swiss were reserved and morose, and she had met only the friendliest of helpful people so far.

“Books are 'buy one, get two free',” the man said, now in English with a French intonation. “If you choose another one, you only have to pay for one of them.”

“That's okay, I didn't find anything else I wanted,” Sarah replied, smiling politely.

_And I need to get going._

He picked up the two books and looked at their covers.

“You like adventures? Contes de fée?”

Sarah nodded. “I like to get lost in a story.”

The man pursed his lips, nodded again, and put the books back on the counter. His demeanour gave Sarah the impression he was testing her. Apparently she was giving the right answers.

“If you like to get lost, I have a good book for you,” he said, more to himself than to her.

He pulled open a drawer behind the counter and rummaged through it.

Sarah silently urged him to hurry. It was really getting late now. If she missed the train, she would have to take a taxi and run through the airport to get to the gate on time. And she really hated that.

Holding up a small black volume, he looked at her again, and cocked his head, a faint smile curling the corners of his mouth, as if he was pleased with something. Then he put it on top of her two purchases and turned the stack towards Sarah so she could read the title.

**Return to Labyrinth.**

Sarah reached out to pick up the book when the man's hand came down on it, blocking her from touching it. The air around them seemed to solidify, the bookshop's smell suddenly oppressive.

“A dark tale,” he said. “The ending is... tortueux.”

A cloud moved on the wind, letting the slanted rays from the sun pierce the shop window. They made the lenses of his glasses go opaque and lighted up his pale hair. Sarah had the impression she was looking into the face of an owl.

“You may never find your way out of it,” he warned. “You may not _want_ to.”

“I wish to know how the story ends,” Sarah said in a voice she didn't recognise as her own.

With deft fingers, the bookseller wrapped the three books in a sheet of brown paper.

Sarah left the shop without looking back and ran all the way to her lakeside hotel.

She made it to her flight home just in time, they were already calling her name at the gate. It was only when she fastened her seatbelt that she realised she hadn't paid for the books.


	2. Déjà Vu

Sarah nestled herself amidst the cushions against the headboard of her double bed and unwrapped the three books she had bought in Switzerland.

She flipped through the story of the intrepid little prince, admired the illustrations, then put it on her bedside table.

She read the summary on the back cover of the second book again. She was looking forward to reading this one. History mixed with myth, and a dash of magic – those were the best tales. She grinned and looked at the stack on her night stand: she first had to finish the four books she was currently reading in parallel.

All that was left in the now-crinkled sheet of brown paper was the small tome bound in black leather with gold-embossed letters. She carefully opened it to avoid cracking the spine, and folded back the flyleaves one by one, only to discover the whole book was blank. She frowned, confused. Hadn't the bookseller said something about a dark tale with a twisted ending?

_There's nothing in here..._

“Nothing? Nothing, tra la la?” a sinister voice whispered in her ear.

Sarah gasped and shrunk down into her pillows, her eyes wide with fear. That voice, she would recognise it anywhere. But _that_ story had ended. Or so she kept telling herself, even if her writer's heart knew better.

She clutched the book to her chest and looked around her bedroom. Nothing moved in the shadows, and she didn't hear any sound other than the usual distant din of the traffic on the overpass behind her house.

She took a deep breath and relaxed her shoulders.

_My mind is playing tricks on me. Time to go to sleep._

She dropped the little black book on the floor next to her bed, turned off her bedside lamp, pulled the covers around herself, and closed her eyes.

~~~

Sarah looked around. She knew this room. She recognised the seat on the dais at the far end.

_How did I get here? I didn't make a wish..._

She turned full circle. The place was deserted. No goblins. No chickens. Fortunately no Goblin King either.

_I need to get out of here. And quick._

She walked to the large door furthest away from the throne. Shoving the resisting wood several times with her shoulder – hoping nobody would hear it scrape across the flagstones – she got it to open wide enough for her to pass through.

She peeked into the hallway beyond. It stretched into infinity to the left, she couldn't see where it led. On the right, down couple of stone steps, she saw another hallway crossing the one she was now standing in.

At the foot of the steps, she looked both ways and decided to take another right. There were no windows. She couldn't see the where the light came from. Above her, all she saw was darkness.

She passed a niche on her left. Backtracking a few steps, she peered into its shadow and saw a regular-sized wooden door set deeply into the stone arch. She tried the handle and found it locked. She turned around to walk further along the corridor.

Sarah looked at the throne on the dais, confused.

_Déjà vu._

Behind her, the large door that she exited through earlier mutely greeted her.

She looked around the room again. It was still deserted, and she should probably be grateful for that. It did strike her as odd that besides the throne and the pit, there was nothing else in the entire space. Not even a chicken feather or an empty ale cup. It was also eerily quiet as if the stones absorbed all sound.

_Like an empty scene in a theatre..._

She turned away from the entrance that obviously wouldn't provide her an exit, and walked towards the other side of the room, where, behind the dais with the throne, an archway was hung with a curtain.

Pushing the curtain aside, she found another hallway. It was narrower than the others, and stretched in front of her towards what looked like a window at the far end.

She started walking, but the window didn't seem to come any closer. It felt as if she was walking uphill. She stopped and looked behind her. The floor was completely level.

When she finally reached the window, out of breath and sweating, she pulled herself onto the windowsill. Just to have a look outside, get her bearings, maybe find a way out of the Castle and back home.

There was no moon, not a single star twinkled. The russet glow on the horizon looked like it was painted on the black canvas of the sky.

She looked down and instantly wished she hadn't. The Labyrinth's winding, ever-changing paths were so far below her it made her head spin.

She scooted off the ledge, back onto the solid floor, away from the abyss, into the relative safety of the hallway.

Or rather, the throne room again.

_I am dreaming. I need to wake up. Pinch myself. Count my fingers._

She pinched her arm. It hurt, but her surroundings didn't change. She looked at her hands and counted her fingers. She was still in the Castle beyond the Goblin City. In the Goblin King's throne room.

Shivering from the cooling sweat of her earlier exertion, she dragged her feet towards the dais and perched on the edge of the throne. She closed her eyes and slowed her breathing. Maybe she could trick her mind into waking up for real by pretending to.

She sat like that for a few minutes, then stretched her arms, yawned, and opened her eyes, blinking. Nothing had changed.

_If I_ _ have _ _be stuck here, there must be nicer places that this sparse throne room._

She heard the creak of rusty door hinges to her right and stiffened in fear. But it was only another door, pushed open by a draft. She stood up and slowly walked towards it. She couldn't make out anything in the darkness beyond, but it seemed to beckon her.

_Probably an illusion. But I cannot stay here either._

She tentatively put one foot across the threshold. The floor felt solid.

The door moved in the draft and bumped against her, making her stumble.

“Ouch”

She twisted to rub the sore spot where the door's knob had knocked into her, then looked up. She was in a library. Endless rows of books welcomed her. A fire was burning in a large hearth and two comfortable chairs were placed in front of it, inviting her to choose a book and take a seat.

Against her better judgement, Sarah took a few slow, silent steps towards the nearest cabinet and reached out to touch one of the leather-bound volumes.

~~~

“That's not fair!”

Sarah winced at the sudden burst of sound coming from the desk on the other side of her office.

“What is not fair, Laura?”

“You didn't invite me!” her fellow book editor said with mock indignation, crossing her arms.

It had been sheer coincidence that Sarah and Laura had found employment at the same publishing house after college, but they both loved the fact that they were friends as well as colleagues.

“Invite you to what?” Sarah asked as she hung her coat on the back of her chair, unable to follow.

“You look like you had one hell of a party last night and I should have been there,” Laura exclaimed as she stood up and walked around her desk towards Sarah's. She leaned on the table top and smiled slyly. “Or was it a party for two, in the royal bedchamber, hmm?”

Laura had started calling Sarah 'the Queen' years ago, when she had watched her play Titania in a modern rendition of 'A Midsummer Night's Dream' staged by the drama club of their college. She had revived the old nickname when they had become colleagues, making endless references to Sarah's alleged blue blood. Some clients now really thought she was an actual princess, working as a commoner before ascending her throne, and were very deferential to her. The more Sarah denied it, the more they felt honoured to be 'keeping her secret'. So she just rolled with it.

“I should wish,” Sarah sighed. She felt wrung out. It was going to be a long day. “There was no party at all, I just slept really badly.”

“How come?”

“You know how you sometimes have these intense dreams and you wake up as if you have lived another life during the night?”

“Not really...”

“Well, lucky you then.” Sarah stretched her arms and yawned. “I have them often and last night's was particularly exhausting.”

“Sounds like fun,” Laura dead-panned as she walked back to her work station.

Sarah rubbed her throbbing shoulder and then the sore spot on her lower back.

_Dreams, even exhausting ones, really shouldn't give me bruises..._


	3. Sparks

“I want to break free!!!” Sarah sang off-key at the top of her lungs. She had the kitchen radio on, full volume, and it so happened that they played the best possible song for house cleaning.

She dragged the heavy vacuum cleaner up the stairs and started cleaning her bedroom.

Sticking the wand under bed to catch the dust bunnies hiding there, she felt the nozzle bump against something. She turned the machine off, knelt next to the bed and swiped her hand from left to right in the slim space between the bed frame and the floor. She pulled out a small book.

**Return to Labyrinth**

She sat up and traced her fingers over the gold-embossed letters. She thought of the night she had heard _his_ voice and had been inside the Castle beyond the Goblin City. The memory of that dream – or whatever it had been – occupied in her thoughts when she least needed it. She was both curious and fearful about what it might mean.

She stood up and walked down the stairs to her wall-to-wall bookcase in the living room. From behind a thick sci-fi trilogy she retrieved the small red book that had started it all, all those years ago.

She compared the two tomes. They were the same size, the lettering was the same, only the colour of the leather they were bound in differed.

Putting the black book on the coffee table, she opened the red one on the last page and read again the faithful lines that had allowed her to reclaim the child. Nothing hinted at a sequel.

She flipped back to the beginning of the story. There was only one sentence that could be interpreted as an invitation for the story to continue. The one so many of her fanfics started from.

**But what no one knew is that the king of the goblins had fallen in love with the the girl, and he had given her certain powers.**

She put the red book next to the black one on the coffee table and thought for a moment. Then she grabbed both of them, put them on the shelf, and put the trilogy back in place.

~~~

Sarah was sitting at her kitchen table, enjoying a Thai take-out dinner when she heard a thump in the living room.

_Shit, maybe I left the window open and that annoying ginger cat sneaked in again._

She was relieved to find no evidence of a 'cat burglar'. She looked around for the source of the disturbance and saw that a book had fallen off a high shelf.

_That's odd, how could it have fallen all on its own?_

She took the book off the floor and tried to put it back, but it didn't fit next to the other books, something was occupying the space. Holding the book in one hand, she reached up with the other and felt around in the space between the books. When she pulled her hand back, holding the obstruction, she frowned.

Return to Labyrinth

_How did that get up that shelf? I am sure I put it behind the other books together with the red one._

She put the fallen book back in its proper place and the small black tome on the coffee table.

_I am going to finish my dinner and then I will deal with you._

~~~

The food was eaten, the dishes were clean, everything was as it should be. If only that black book wasn't beckoning her, making it impossible to concentrate on the one she was reading.

Sarah sighed and picked up the offending publication once more. There was no story in there, so what was stopping her from throwing it out, burning it, getting rid of it one way or another?

Absent-mindedly she let the pages whirr a couple of times under her fingers. She drew in a sharp breath and dropped the book when the motion produced small glittery sparks. For a few moments, she stared at the book, lying cover up open on the floor. When she gingerly picked it up and turned it over, her eyes went wide. On the first page after the flyleaf, where there had once been only blank space, there was text now.

**But what no one knew is that the king of the goblins had fallen in love with the the girl, and he had given her certain powers.**

It was the sentence from the red book that she had identified as the invitation for the story to continue.

Then she remembered the bookseller's warning: 'You may never find your way out of it. You may not **want** to.' And what she had answered: 'I **wish** to know how the story ends.'

_Fuck._

~~~

Against her better judgement, Sarah took a few slow, silent steps towards the nearest cabinet and reached out to touch one of the leather-bound volumes.

“Are you in such need of books that you have come to steal mine?” a familiar voice came from behind her and Sarah froze on the spot, her hand hanging idly in the air, millimetres from the book's spine.

She slowly lowered her arm and turned her head.

She stood in the Library of the Castle beyond the Goblin City once more. But this time she was not alone. The Underground monarch himself was lounging in one of the comfortable chairs near the hearth, his cape draped around him, one leg on the armrest. A crystal bubble, filled with colourful sparks, like miniature fireworks, was floating around his circling finger.

Sarah ripped her eyes away from the mesmerising scene and turned to the still open door. She needed to get away from him.

“Ignoring me is very rude, Sarah,” his voice came again. “I have people executed for less.”

Sarah took a few more steps towards the door. She wasn't going to let him rile her up. She wasn't going to let him _anything_.

She stepped across the threshold.

Only to find herself in the Library again, this time sitting in the other chair, facing the fire, to the right of the Goblin King.

“Please, make yourself at home,” he invited without looking at her.

Sarah crossed her arms, and fixed her eyes on the mantelpiece.

“Why am I here?” she asked in as neutral a tone as she could muster.

He stopped fidgeting with his crystal and cocked his head at her. “Indeed. Why _are_ you here, Sarah? Why you are traipsing through my Castle uninvited?”

Sarah turned her head to face him, but didn't take the bait. As if he wasn't responsible for all this. Also, dream or not, it was always better to say as little as possible. The Fæ had a way of twisting your words so you started doubting yourself.

“What do you want, Jareth?” she asked instead.

“I want to fulfil your wish,” he stated, standing up. “To know how the story ends.” He threw the crystal into the hearth where it silently exploded and coloured the fire blue and green.

Sarah couldn't resist looking at the dancing flames, curling around each other like lovers in a fiery dance.

The Goblin King leaned on the mantelpiece and watched her sitting stiffly in the plush chair. “I am curious by nature,” he grinned, pulling her from her daze.

“Curiosity killed the cat,” Sarah dead-panned and raised an eyebrow at him.

“But satisfaction brought it back!” He grinned again, more lecherously. “And I assure you, witty Sarah, satisfaction is guaranteed.”

Sarah refused to consider what his last sentence meant. For all she knew, he would only be satisfied with her head on a stake above the Bog.

“Why now, after all this time?” she asked, keeping her arms crossed and her gaze level.

“Would it disappoint you if I said I was bored?”

“It would. I would have expected more of you.”

He stepped closer to her and put his hands on the armrests of her chair, caging her in. He looked straight at her.

“And what is it, precious Sarah, that you expect of me this time around?”

Sarah swallowed and tried to keep her breathing steady. She had forgotten how blue his eyes were. How seductive his voice. His scent...

“That you send me home and stay out of my life,” she managed with only the tiniest of squeaks in the last syllable.

“That isn't what you _really_ want,” he breathed into her ear. “All those stories you read. All those stories you _write_... you dream about me, about _us_.”

She pressed herself deeper into the back of the chair, and looked away.

“Don't tell me the illustrious Goblin King spends his time reading Aboveground fiction,” Sarah sneered.

“I do not need to. It's all in here.” He tapped a gloved finger against her forehead.

“It's very rude to read people's minds without their permission,” she reprimanded him. She slapped his hand away. “And don't touch me.”

“Your blush belies your words,” he corrected her. “You crave my touch. You still wonder what would have happened if you had accepted my offer.” He smirked at her. “What is your favourite trope again? Enemies to lovers?”

Sarah remained silent, and cursed herself inwardly for writing fanfiction about him. She could have written about anything or anyone, but no, she just _had to_ write about the _Goblin King_. The one Fæ who repulsed and attracted her in equal measure. Which was exactly the problem, and clearly the reason she was here now.

_Fuck._

Jareth returned to leaning on the mantelpiece. He looked amusedly at the way she creased her brow and pressed her mouth into a thin line.

“I will not let you rule me,” she said decisively. “And I am against slavery.”

“But you _do_ fear me. And you do _love_ me,” he retorted.

Sarah shook her head and rolled her eyes at him.

“I love the _idea_ of you, Jareth. If you would read my fics more carefully, you would understand that the Jareth in them is a figment of my imagination. I don't even know who or what you really are. So no, I do **not** love _you_.”

“Woe is me, to be without your love!” Jareth exclaimed with exaggerated pathos, looking beseechingly at her, his hands on his heart. “How you break my heart, you cruel thing.”

Sarah rolled her eyes again, got out of her chair and took a few steps away from the hearth, putting space between herself and the Fæ royal.

“I guess this is just another game to you?,” she stated more than asked. “I won last time. I will win again.”

“Yes, yes, for your kingdom is as great and I have no power over you, yada yada, yada.”

He waved a hand dismissively, then stepped uncomfortably close to her, his cape curling around the both of them, as if it was trying to form a cocoon.

“What if there is no winning? What if there are only endless rounds of ever-changing odds? Would you still play?”

“I would change the rules,” Sarah said, bending slightly backwards, away from his face so close to hers.

“Bold of you to assume that you have that power,” he said, turning away. “If there _were_ rules that is.”

“Legend has it that you gave me certain powers,” Sarah countered.

“Interesting that you should bring that up.” He looked mockingly at her over his shoulder. “The bards also sing about how I fell in love with you.”

Sarah raised her eyebrows and gave him a lopsided grin. “Did you?”

“I must have done one or the other,” he said, tapping his chin. “I can't quite remember now. It was a long time ago.” He shrugged, then turned around and cupped her chin. “Tell me Sarah, which one would you prefer it to be? Which power would you like to wield over me?”

“Whichever will get me out of here and back to my normal life as quickly as possible.” She gripped his wrist and pulled his hand off her face.

“Another lie, and you know it. You _want_ to be here. You _want_ to play again, now that you are old and experienced enough to understand the stakes... and the prize...”

“You have nothing I want.” She crossed her arms again.

“You forget that I can make your dreams come true. How about publishing your own book, Sarah, instead of those written by others?” he tempted her. “I can be _very_ generous.”

“Your _generosity_ comes at a price I am not willing to pay. You cannot be trusted.”

“Casting me as the villain is another one of your favourite tropes, I know.” He shook his head, rolled his eyes, and sighed in exasperation.

“That's because you _are_ the villain,” she jabbed a finger at him. “If you were the hero, you wouldn't keep me captive in your Castle.”

Jareth raised his eyebrows in surprise. “You aren't captive here. You're free to go.” He pointed at the door behind Sarah, the one through which she had entered. It was still open. She could make out the familiar trees and buildings of her street.

Sarah hesitated. Looked from the Goblin King to the door and back. Was he really just going to let her go, just like that?

“You seem hesitant, Sarah. What's keeping you here?” he said, moving to stand behind her. “Afraid the story will end before it starts?”

“I'm not falling for that one. That there, beyond that door, is just another illusion.”

The door slammed shut.

He put his hands on her shoulders and leaned into her, his lips millimetres from her ear. “Let's see where your story takes us then. I'm sure it's not going to be a one-shot. Sweet dreams, Sarah.”


	4. Strobes

Sarah walked into a wall of sound when the bouncer let her into Club Chtonia. A heavy beat vibrated in her bones her as she tried to make her way through the mass of people around her in the vast space illuminated by coloured lights and laser beams.

Chtonia was the favourite late-night haunt of Sarah and her gang of friends. The night-club, housed in an abandoned department store, styled itself as a place of personal freedom, where everyone could express their true self. The only things that were taboo here were kink-shaming and non-con. An army of eccentric hosts and pumped-up bouncers made sure these rules were respected. On any night, the building was crowded with drag queens, night owls, fetishists of every flavour, goths, ravers, hipsters, wannabe celebrities, groupies, and anyone else who craved to see and be seen.

The ground floor was reserved for dancing and dotted with cages in which athletic dancers moved their painted bodies. Along the walls, small tables and plush chairs and settees provided rest to those who weren't high on anything.

The DJ presided over the undulating crowd from a large balcony protruding from one wall like a pulpit.

A long bar staffed by bartenders clad in black leather with varying levels of exposed skin, offered any kind of drink – or poison as the servers called it – one could fancy. On the other end, wide steps leading to a high podium offered space to those who wanted to show off their moves, or watch from an elevated angle.

The upper level of the club, accessible via escalators near the entrance, had private lounges and dark rooms, catering to those who wanted to take things further.

Sarah smiled when she spotted the quartet waiting for her on a cluster of red-velvet settees near the bar. Their favourite DJ had not yet started their set, and they were having drinks while surveying the motley crew around them, looking for new faces.

Laura had brought her favourite fuck-buddy Lucas with her. Her 'partner-in-crime' as she called him. Both bi-sexual and very attractive – especially when they were decked out in matching rockabilly attire, like tonight – they loved pranking unsuspecting singles and couples by flirting with them in tandem and asking questions like 'which way do you eat your banana?' Most nights it worked out for them, and they left the club with one or more partners-for-one-night.

'Auditions are confidential' was Lucas' standard answer when Sarah asked them about their trysts. But on other nights the 'dastardly duo' – as Sarah called them – would regale her with tales of their shenanigans, even if they never revealed people's names.

Farah and Misha on the other hand, loved hanging out at Chtonia, but weren't interested in the carnal pleasures the club had to offer. They came for the music, the dancing, and the friendship, but only had eyes for each other.

Farah was a tall, slender woman with Indian roots. Her long black hair was streaked with white, which added to the mystery of her thick-lashed almond-shaped eyes. Misha was Korean, but his mother was Swedish, and his high cheek-bones and full lips were so symmetrical it rendered people speechless. They were a striking couple and attracted a lot of attention. It was highly amusing to see them wave off those who were brave enough to approach them. They had mastered the art of letting people down while leaving them with the hope that 'next time' they might get lucky.

“All hail the Queen!” Laura shouted over the din of the music when she saw Sarah approaching. Sarah hugged her friend, kissed Lucas on the lips, then received a group hug and synchronised kisses on the cheek from Farah and Misha.

“Matteo isn't with you?” Farah asked, referring to Sarah's long-time best friend. Matteo was gay as fuck, but loved sashaying into Chtonia with Sarah on his arm. 'It's called making a statement' he would reply when she asked him if he wasn't afraid to be mistaken for a heterosexual. Which didn't answer her question, so she just took it as a compliment.

“Matteo has to work this weekend and didn't want to spoil his complexion,” Sarah grinned. The seemingly ageless queer worked as a maître d'hôtel at an upscale boutique 'residence' – as he called it, the word 'hotel' being _so_ mundane – in the centre of town. Sarah frequented their restaurant a lot, as Matteo insisted that she brought all her dates before him so he could provide 'valuable relationship advice' – meaning he would show her a thumbs-up or thumbs-down, Caesar-style, to let her know if she should go on a second date with the person in question or not. Sarah wasn't sure if his 'advice' was really helping her – his main criterion being 'fuckability' – but either way, she was grateful that he was looking out for her. And he was a riot to hang out with, as only Matteo could get away with the most gracefully outrageous comments on anything and anyone.

Laura handed Sarah a glass, then gestured with her chin. “Here is your poison, and there is your gig.”

Sarah followed the direction of Laura's gesture and saw a dark-skinned man in tight jeans and a mesh singlet, showing off his muscular physique. He had one arm around a pretty blonde girl in pigtails who was dressed like a Lolita.

Sarah looked back at Laura and raised a questioning eyebrow.

“Not that one, the other one,” Laura said and gestured again.

Sarah spotted Laura's target, leaning against the wall, apparently on his own. Tall, svelte, with long blond hair tied at the nape of his neck. High cheek-bones, and eyes so blue Sarah could make out even that detail in the low light near the bar. Dressed in what looked like black leather pants, knee-high boots, and a white poet's shirt. Was he wearing gloves?

_Fuck._

Sarah made a face. “No way, Laura!”

“Oh, come on Sarah, you need to get some!”

Sarah shook her head, underlining her statement and sat down in the middle of the remaining settee. The two couples occupied other two settees on each side of a low table which was already littered with empty glasses. A server dressed in leather chaps over red underwear passed by and cleared their table. They ordered another round of drinks.

Laura leaned closer to Sarah and tickled her bare shoulder, walking her fingers along her collar bone and up the curve of her neck, giving Sarah goosebumps.

“You need to let go of this idée fixe that blond men are off-limits. That one is so hot he could melt steel!” Laura encouraged her.

“No, not today, not ever, and certainly not that one,” Sarah said, but she couldn't resist looking at the man again, and flushed when their gazes locked for a second. Human glamour or not, she had no doubt about who he was.

Laura was about to say something more, when everyone's attention was drawn to the balcony where the Master of Ceremonies announced the night's main DJ. Cheers and whistles went up, dancers found their places, search lights roamed the room, smoke machines were activated. The party was getting started.

Sarah put her half-empty glass on the table and got up.

“Let's dance!” she declared to her foursome of fabulous friends.

“For fear tonight is all!” Misha laughed at her, quoting one of her favourite David Bowie songs.

Laura and Lucas followed Sarah onto the crowded floor gesturing for people to make space for her and shouting 'kneel before your Queen!' at the top of their lungs. Sarah grinned. The other revellers probably didn't hear them over the music, and even if they did, they couldn't care less. Weirder things happened in this place. Misha and Farah stayed behind on their settee and laughed at their friends' antics.

Sarah was mildly annoyed with herself. As she walked onto the dance floor, her eyes had involuntarily searched for her blond antagonist. The stroboscopic light reflecting on the artificial smoke made it hard to see clearly, but she thought she had seen him leave. She could slap herself for letting that disappointed her.

Sarah danced and pushed any thoughts of blond men – Fæ or human – out of her mind. She wanted to dance the night away and then go home and sleep diagonally on her double bed, and have a lie-in the next day.

The DJ mixed one song after another, stringing the beats and melodies together in a never-ending rhythm.

From the corner of her eye Sarah saw Laura and Lucas grinding against each other and anyone else they deemed worthy. They were probably already high on one pill or another. Sarah wasn't interested in drugs, not after that roofy peach at fifteen. She didn't even drink that much alcohol, preferring to find her energy in the music and the company, and not wake up like a train wreck the morning after.

The dance floor was getting more crowded, the air hotter, she felt beads of sweat running down her cleavage. Her tight red dress was sliding up her thighs while she moved, revealing the tops of her stockings and the clasps of her garters.

A gust of wind caressed her – as if someone had briefly opened a window somewhere – and Sarah turned her face towards it, her eyes almost closed, relishing the refreshment.

She opened her eyes when she felt the cool air brush her face again. The incognito Goblin King was standing in front of her, slowly waving a large, expensive-looking fan at himself. Each time he waved it, a small but welcome breeze came Sarah's way.

She stopped moving and looked at him. A lascivious smile curled his lips as his eyes roamed her body. She pulled her dress back down her legs.

Behind him, she saw Laura watching them. Lucas had wrapped his arms around Laura and was busy exploring the side of her neck with his tongue. Laura winked at Sarah, then turned her attention to Lucas.

Glancing to the side, she saw that Misha and Farah were still sitting where she had left them some time earlier. But they were too deep into each other to pay attention to anything.

Jareth closed his fan and held out his gloved hand, as if inviting her to dance.

Sarah crossed her arms and shook her head, mouthing a silent 'no'.

She froze when he stepped closer and brought his mouth next to her ear. The scent of leather and musk wafting off him, did something to her she refused to acknowledge. It sent her thoughts in the wrong direction and she briefly closed her eyes.

“Dance?” he asked in a voice full of sensual possibility. The way he said it, 'dance' certainly didn't mean 'move to the music, fully clothed, in a public space'.

“No,” Sarah said decisively, fighting the primal urge to uncross her arms and drape them around his neck.

“Another time then,” he said, his lips so close it made her ear tingle. It sounded like a promise he intended to keep.

Sarah didn't trust herself to reply.

He bit his lip, inclined his head at her, opened his fan again, and turned on his heel. He was quickly lost in the crowd and Sarah felt the weird twinge of disappointment at a lost opportunity. She didn't dwell on it, but turned around as well, and walked to her settee next to Misha and Farah. She ordered another drink and reclined into the red velvet cushions, her legs were happy to take a break.

Laura plunked down on the settee next to her and playfully bumped Sarah's arm with her fist.

“I can't believe you said no to him!” she exclaimed. “If you don't want him, I might give it a try.” She wiggled her eyebrows and licked her lips.

“Laura, no,” Sarah said, the fear in her voice unmistakable despite the loud music. “Whatever you do, stay away from him.”

“But why?” Laura pouted.

“Because I am your Queen and you have to obey me,” Sarah answered in a regal tone.

Lucas heard her and bowed deeply, grinning from ear to ear. This allowed to Laura to firmly squeeze his up-ended buttocks and he jumped up and pounced on her in retaliation.

Sarah laughed at Lucas's undignified yelp, but her mind was still on the Goblin King. Since her 'chat' with Jareth in the Library, she had meant to take measures to ward off the Fæ... But then she never did. Something told her that doing so would only make things worse. What 'things' was, she wasn't sure of. She had trouble thinking straight about why he was back in her life after all this time – and how she felt about that – so she preferred to not think about it at all.

She avoided the black book, but she knew it was there, behind her other books, beckoning her to satisfy her curiosity and read how the story developed.

She took a sip from her drink then almost spit it out when from the depths of her subconscious an uneasy truth revealed itself: every single one of her fanfics started with a temptation coming from the antagonist which the protagonist would courageously reject.


	5. Candles

“Beep. Beep. Beep.”

“Lemme see, lemme see!” Laura exclaimed and jumped up from her chair to grab Sarah's phone off her desk.

Laura had convinced Sarah to create an account on a dating app, arguing that Sarah wasn't 'getting it on' often enough and needed an 'ego-boost' which in Laura's opinion was best provided by numerous men – and some women – sending likes on pictures of her. Pictures Laura had taken of her, and which were slightly more provocative than Sarah would have liked.

In this particular app, the likes took the shape of candles. One meant you thought someone was cute. Two said you were interested in them, but not making the first move. And you would only give three candles to someone you wanted to meet in person, a.k.a. have sex with. It wasn't really about dating in Sarah's opinion. It was about judging people's looks and trying to score.

“Wow! Hot! Three candles, yes!” Laura squealed, looking at the screen of Sarah's phone.

Laura had two profiles on the app. One for herself and one for her and Lucas together. Lucas had one for himself as well. They both sent Sarah three candles on the regular to 'vote her up'. The dastardly duo received endless twos and threes from gorgeous people, many of whom they took up on their offer, and Sarah often marvelled at her friends' libido.

_They would give any Fæ a run for their money._

Sarah winced as the thought came to her. Better to not think anything along those lines, just to make sure she wouldn't invoke _him_ unwittingly. After that encounter at Chtonia, he hadn't shown up again, but Sarah was on her qui vive anyway.

“Laura, give me that!” Sarah said and tried to grab the phone back, but her colleague held it out of reach.

“Only if you promise to take this one seriously,” she said. “He isn't blond,” she added, winking.

Sarah rarely gave more than one candle, if at all, and she mostly got twos herself. She wasn't in the mood for dating, she was too tired. She didn't sleep much, afraid to end up in the Underground when she did.

“I promise,” she said wearily.

Laura handed her back her phone and Sarah looked at the picture on the screen. Black hair, sharp features, grey eyes. She checked his information. 'Full-time employed. No children. Never been married.' But all that could be false information. People wrote anything on the Internet. She scrolled down to his interests. 'Literature. Ballroom dancing. Nature.' The mention of ballroom dancing gave her pause. Everyone said they loved books and nature. Not many men would admit they liked to dance.

“I will think about it,” Sarah said, looking at Laura who had followed her every move while she read the man's profile.

“I will take that as a 'yes',” Laura grinned mischievously. Her finger shot out so quickly Sarah didn't have time to move the phone out of her reach, and pushed the three-candle-button, letting John Blaylock – as Sarah's new suitor was called – know she liked him too and wanted to meet.

“Laura! For fuck's sake!” Sarah shouted. “Why do I even let you _near_ my love life?!”

“Because as your loyal lady-in-waiting it's my duty to make sure my Queen is fully satisfied.”

~~~

Sarah was sitting at her usual table at 'Le Pêché Mignon', the restaurant of the boutique hotel 'Montrésor' where Matteo worked.

After Laura had tricked her into sending three candles to John Blaylock, he had written her the kindest of messages, inviting her to dinner at a restaurant of her choice.

Sarah had decided she might as well try her best to make it worth her time. So she had let Laura doll her up – within reason – put on a little black dress – not the one Laura had suggested, which was barely a dress at all – and called Matteo to reserve a table.

John was late. Almost an hour already. Sarah had kept to her usual rule of sending a message after 15 minutes, then waiting another 15 before leaving. John had called her immediately after her text message, profusely apologised for making her wait, and promised he would arrive momentarily. She had liked his British accent enough to believe him. So she had waited, read her book for a while, then watched the three candles on her table – courtesy of Matteo's weird sense of humour – burn and cry small tears of wax.

But now she was hungry and done. The gallant gentleman, who didn't make a lady wait, and wined and dined her with respect, was apparently an extinct species. She was about to get up when Matteo walked in with a guest in his wake.

“And here we have the lovely lady who has so patiently waited for you,” he said gregariously to the man behind him and gestured at the vacant seat at Sarah's table.

“I do apologise for my tardiness, I have no excuse. I'm ever so grateful for your patience,” the man said as Matteo moved away and gave Sarah a discreet thumbs-up.

Sarah grinned at Matteo, then looked at the person who had slid onto the plush bench that curved around her table. Her eyes went wide.

_What the actual fuck?_

The man sitting opposite her was not John Blaylock, with his black hair and grey eyes. It was the blond stranger from Chtonia a.k.a. the Goblin King in disguise. He wore a sharp midnight blue suit instead of leather pants and a poet's shirt, but it was him, no doubt about it. He was smiling kindly at her, not a hint of Fæ trickery about him.

“I am very pleased to meet you,” he said politely. “And thank you again for your patience. I must be making a very bad first impression.” He had the same British accent as John had had over the phone.

Sarah nodded mutely. How could Matteo have mistaken him for her date? She had shown him John's profile picture. It was one of the security measures they had put in place, as you never knew who you might meet online.

One of the servers came to give them the menu and Sarah decided to play along until she could come up with a way to escape. She knew the restaurant and the hotel well. The ladies room would not offer a way out, it was the front door, or the kitchens. And both were in full view from where they were sitting; she couldn't just sneak away.

They ordered, and made small talk interspersed with long silences, which somehow never became awkward. When asked a question, Sarah tried to give non-committal, non-informative answers. She asked many questions herself, trying to lure the Goblin King into revealing himself. But it wasn't working. He had a perfect, natural-sounding alibi for everything.

The food was as nice as ever and Sarah enjoyed it despite being on edge. They were Aboveground, surely her dinner couldn't be Fæ-tainted if it came from the hotel kitchen? She decided to go very slow on the wine though.

Matteo came to check on them and Sarah tried to covertly let him know that she needed his help to escape. But her friend seemed oblivious to her plight, and was his usual outrageous, facetious self.

“Look at the adorable couple having the time of their lives,” Matteo joked, gesturing dramatically, before narrowing his eyes at Sarah's dinner companion. “Have you begged forgiveness for your misdeed already?”

“I have, but I will continue to do so, until Sarah is appeased,” came the answer.

“Very well,” Matteo nodded. “Make sure to invite me to the wedding, will you?”

“I promise.”

Sarah gaped at the exchange. Wedding? What the fuck was Matteo on about?

Before she could tell him off, they were served their desserts and Matteo left them again. Sarah looked at her plate. Her favourite: moelleux au chocolat. She took a bite. It tasted rich and warm, and somehow very erotic.

She drank the last of her tea, trying to avoid the gaze of the man opposite her, who was following her every move with keen interest.

“It's time for me to go home,” she said.

The glamoured Fæ nodded and gestured to one of the servers for the bill. It was Matteo who brought it to them, which was odd, as the maître d'hôtel normally didn't handle such menial tasks.

Sarah glanced at the name on the Amex Black Card. 'Jared Delutin'.

She deconstructed the name in her head. 'Jared' was just a variant of 'Jareth', that was almost too obvious. And 'Delutin' or rather 'de lutin' meant 'of goblin' in French. As if she needed any further proof...

“The valet has your car ready out front,” Matteo said. “Make sure the Queen gets home safely tonight,” he added. Sarah gaped at him again. Why the hell was he using her nickname?

Matteo then held out his hand, and took Sarah to the front door. She was bundled into the passenger seat of a silver grey Porsche.

“Don't be a stranger,” Matteo said as he kissed Sarah on the cheek. This was their secret code for “I will call you by the time you get home, pick up to let me know you are okay, or I will call the police.” Matteo knew exactly how long it took to drive to Sarah's house from the hotel, and always made sure to check that she was safe.

~~~

Sarah woke when the car pulled to a stop in front of her house.

_Shit. I fell asleep? Way to go Sarah. Safety first. Not._

She started again when the door on her side opened. Jareth was holding it open for her to get out. He even held out his hand to help her.

He closed the car door and held out his arm to walk her to her front door. He seemed intent on being courteous until the bitter end.

Sarah was trying hard to keep her wits about her, despite the sleepiness the cool night air hadn't completely chased away.

_Whatever you do, don't invite him in._

“Thank you, I had a very nice evening,” Sarah said politely, then winced.

_Never thank the Fæ._

“Likewise,” he answered, then leaned in and softly pressed his lips against hers. It was a very chaste kiss, but one that promised more, so much more. His musky smell clouded Sarah's head.

“Sweet dreams, Sarah,” he said and turned on his heel, walked back to the car, and drove off.

Sarah's phone rang.

“This is Sarah Williams,” she answered it. This told Matteo that she was home safe. And wouldn't be taking anyone to her bed. The code for that was 'who is this?'.

~~~

The next morning, Sarah found a long message from John Blaylock in the inbox of the dating app.

**Dear Sarah,**

**I would like to apologise again for making you wait yesterday evening, and want to thank you deeply for your patience. I enjoyed our time together very much. I also apologise for being too forward in suggesting that I would drive you home. Of course you were right to take a taxi. You only just met me. I do hope these two mishaps on my part will not put you off me completely. Maybe we could go dancing together next time.**

**Warmest regards,**

**John Blaylock.**

Sarah stared at the screen.

_What the actual fuck?_

She looked at her watch. It was early, but Matteo might be awake already. She dialled his number.

“Sarah?” came the sleepy voice of her best friend.

“Matteo, are you awake?”

“Yes, bitch, I am awake. I wasn't moments ago, but then your shrill alarm disturbed my slumber. What is it?”

Sarah grinned. If he was bitchy, he was awake for sure.

“It's about last night. I had dinner at the restaurant, yes?”

“Yes, my dear, why? Did you have so much to drink you don't remember?”

“Who was I with?”

“Is it that bad? Oh my... Do I need to get you an AA appointment?”

“Matteo, humour me. Who was I with? What did they look like?”

“Black hair, sharp suit, sharp features. Very fuckable if I may say so. He was an hour late, but you were right to wait for him, he was definitely a thumbs-up.”

“Black hair? Did he pay? What name did he sign?”

“Yes, and yes, and he signed John something if I remember correctly, John Bollocks, whatever, do you expect me to memorise every guest's name?”

“Blaylock.”

“Yes, that's it. Why are you asking me all this?”

“Did he drive me home or did I take a taxi?”

“Why Sarah? What is going on? You are being weird.”

“Just answer the question, Matteo.”

“You took a taxi home. I got you one, then called you when you got home, you answered with your name, so I assume you have spent the night alone? Which, incidentally, was totally unexpected, I had so very much expected – dare I say hoped for? – a 'who is this?'. Sometimes I cannot fathom what goes on in that pretty head of yours, Sarah.”

“Thanks Matteo, my dearest daddy, you can go back to your beauty sleep now. Talk soon. Big kiss.”

She hung up and thought about what she had just learned. Matteo had witnessed her having dinner with John Blaylock, who had just sent her a message thanking her for spending a pleasant evening with him. An evening she didn't remember. She had a rather flue memory of having dinner with the Jareth in his persona of Jared Delutin. And of Matteo acting like some kind of pushy matchmaker.

The Goblin King was mixing dreams and reality, she should have expected that. Then she sighed. Hadn't she always wanted to have dinner with him, like a normal date? That scene was included in several of her fics.

_Fuck._

She picked up her phone again, opened the dating app and typed a reply to John's message.

**Dear John,**

**I have a business trip next week.**

**I will get in touch when I am back again.**

**Best regards,**

**Sarah Williams**

She read her words again. Non-committal without completely cutting him off. She needed time to think. She pressed 'send'.


	6. Dazzle

Sarah walked into the coffee shop and immediately spotted John, who got up and smiled as soon as their eyes met.

Sarah was in a good mood. Her business trip had been very fruitful, and as an added bonus, she had been able to sleep soundly several nights in a row. No strange dreams, no hazy fears that kept her up half the night. For the first time in a long while, she felt rested.

She had called John to invite him for tea on this bright Saturday afternoon and he had gladly accepted. She had half a mind to ask him to accompany her to the monthly social ball of the dance school she frequented, but she wanted to meet him 'for real' first.

The memory of their first date seemed to become more and more blurred every time she thought about it. She hadn't dared to ask Matteo again, but had listened to his retelling of the evening to her other friends – teasing her for waiting an hour for a man and then not taking him to her bed.

A small voice in the back of her mind told her there had been someone else... and another small voice teased her and kept suggesting a name...

“Hi there,” Sarah said as she shrugged off her coat and let John take it.

“Hello, Sarah,” John replied and hung her coat on the wall rack behind him. He waited for her to sit down, before he took his own seat.

Sarah smiled again. She appreciated good manners, and tried to be graceful when treated with deference, but this was still the 20th century, and she valued her independence as well. John seemed to know where the middle ground was. If he had pulled out her chair for her, it would have been too much of a good thing.

John asked about her business trip and before long Sarah found herself talking and laughing and generally feeling very relaxed in his company.

“Say, John, what I wanted to ask you,” Sarah said as she put down her cup. “Would you like to come along to the monthly social ball at 'Bravura'? The next one is two weeks from now.”

“I would very much like that,” John answered. “Thank you for the invitation.”

~~~

Sarah grabbed her short cloak when she heard a car pull up to the curb in front of her house. John had insisted on picking her up and dropping her off after the ball, and she had gratefully accepted. 'Bravura' was located across town from where she lived.

She closed the front door behind her and walked down the short path towards a silver grey Porsche that looked oddly familiar. John stood waiting next to it, holding the passenger door open. It gave Sarah a strong sense of déjà vu.

She smiled when she saw he was wearing a tailor-made tuxedo. He had asked her about the colour of her dress, so he could co-ordinate his cummerbund. At a loss for words at this level of etiquette – the social balls weren't very formal, and she usually just picked her clothes at random on the night – she had told him she would be wearing a dark green 50's inspired dress – one she had then begged Laura to lend to her.

~~~

The large practice room was decorated with innumerable paper flowers covered in glitter. Together with the revolving disco balls hung from the ceiling, and the strings of blinking fairy lights along the walls, the effect was dazzling.

Sarah had expected John to be quite a good dancer, after what he had told her, but he wasn't just good, he danced at competition-level. Sarah was humbled. She considered herself an advanced dancer, and regularly led beginners into dances they were not very familiar with, but she had nothing on him. His style and technique were impeccable. She had told him he was free to dance with anyone, and he did invite others and accepted invitations, but quite clearly he was just being polite. This pleased her and she grinned inwardly; she was already becoming territorial about him.

They were going around the room in another Viennese Waltz and Sarah enjoyed the feeling of the petticoat swirling around her legs.

The next dance was announced as an Argentinian tango and John held out his hand in invitation.

Sarah hesitated. Argentinian tango was entirely different from ballroom tango and she hadn't had too much practice yet, regularly missing classes due to business trips.

“I'm not very good at this,” she said as she took his hand and followed him onto the dance floor.

“I'm sure you will do fine, you are a good follower,” he complimented her.

That was true, Sarah was well aware of her ability to follow even the weakest of leaders and thus save many a dance from seeing a stumbled early end.

He led her from one step to another, slowly, sensually. Sarah followed, entirely attuned to the movements of his body, his energy. She felt her heart beat faster and not just from the effort of dancing. She noticed she was dancing moves she had not even learned yet, let alone mastered.

She remembered the last time she had been swept off her feet like this, but pushed the thought away, it was not welcome, not here, not now. She didn't need a fairy tale King if there were human men like John available.

_Take that, Jareth!_

From the corner of her eye she saw couples leaving the floor to watch her and John instead of dancing themselves.

The dance lasted for what felt like an eternity of bliss, and when it finally ended, a small applause went up from the spectators. Sarah meekly smiled as she walked off the floor on John's arm.

~~~

Sarah's phone rang just as she was getting out of John's Porsche in front of her house.

“Who is this?”

“Oh my,” she heard Matteo squeal on the other end. “Is it John?”

“Yes.”

“The Queen has chosen! Tell me all about it tomorrow!”

“Yes, bye.”

She opened her door and looked back at John, who seemed hesitant to follow her in.

“Come,” she said, taking his hand. She threw her bag and cloak on the hallway table and lead him into the living room. “Can I get you a drink?”

“A drink would be nice,” he answered, but instead of letting her turn towards the kitchen, he took her face in his hands and drew her into a kiss.

Sarah didn't hesitate to kiss him back. He was definitely a thumbs-up, and their earlier dancing had made her body scream for more. One hand curled into his hair, while her other arm wrapped around his waist, pulling him flush against her.

His lips left hers and trailed along her neck to land on the pulse point there. Sarah shivered with pleasure as his teeth grazed her skin.

The next moment, John was pulled out of her embrace by an unseen force, and when she opened her eyes, she gasped.

In the middle of her living room stood the Goblin King in full armour, cape rippling, one hand gripping John's hair, the other pressing a silver Bowie-knife to his throat.

“A vampire, Sarah?! Do you have a death wish?!” Jareth bellowed at her.

Sarah was speechless. John was a vampire? She closed her mouth and swallowed.

Before she could come up with a reply, anything beyond the inarticulate squeak she was currently making, the dark tableau before her became even more gruesome.

With a violent snarl, Jareth drew the Bowie-knife across John's throat. Blood gushed from the wound and as John's knees buckled, it gaped open even further, his head almost separating from his body.

Sarah stared, horrified, mesmerised, and saw John's body slowly turning to ashes from the feet up. Finally, Jareth was holding only his head, the unseeing eyes staring back at Sarah. Then that turned to dust as well, the skin pulling back over the skull before falling apart.

Sarah stood, looking at the fearsome Goblin King, who still held the knife and had his furious gaze fixed on her. The pile of ashes at his feet crumbled further, until John Blaylock was completely erased from existence.

“You killed him...” Sarah finally managed to whisper.

“He would have killed you,” Jareth growled and gestured at her neck.

Sarah brought her hand up and it came away sticky with blood.

Jareth took a step towards her and she didn't back away, frozen with the reality of what had just happened, of what would have happened if the Goblin King hadn't come to her rescue.

Jareth brandished the knife, and Sarah idly noticed it was entirely clean, gleaming, and engraved with some kind of hieroglyphs. Was he going to kill her as well? For being tainted by a vampire?

He pressed the flat of his knife against her cheek and pushed her head sideways, so he could see the small punctures John's fangs had made in her skin.

“That needs to be healed, or you will end up with a nasty infection and an ugly scar.” He lowered the knife and titled her chin up with his other hand so she would meet his eyes. “May I?” His voice was as gentle as it had been brutal moments before.

Sarah was still too distressed to understand the implications of the Goblin King asking her permission, and whispered an automatic “yes.”

She gasped again when his mouth came down on the small wounds and she felt him lick her skin. It tingled and a pleasant warmth spread out from it. His smell of leather and musk enveloped her and the feeling she had been overcome with during the tango earlier that evening came back in full force. Her body ached for the touch of skin on skin, for tangled limbs, for pleasure, for release.

“Death or eternal life, both are within my power to grant you, Sarah-mine,” he whispered in her ear.

She didn't resist when he kissed her. The voice warning her to stay away from the Goblin King had long since been muffled by her libido. Bedding Jareth was a favourite trope of hers as well, the story couldn't end before that happened, could it? After all, he _had_ saved her life. He _must_ care for her, yes?

Jareth pulled out of the kiss and smirked at her when she opened her eyes.

“I will remember that, Sarah,” he said. “I will collect my reward later.”

And then he was gone, leaving a bewildered Sarah staring blindly into the space he had just occupied. She staggered to her reading chair and sat down.

She tried hard to organise her thoughts. She had been looking up vampire lore for a book she was editing... And she always wrote redeemable qualities into her villain – into her fictional Jareth. He couldn't be all evil, he had to have a heart buried under his objectionable behaviour. He had to show he cared – for her – however twisted. She needed an excuse to... love him?

“Sweet dreams, Precious,” came his disembodied voice.

~~~

“Girrrl! Tell me everything, leave no sordid detail unsaid!,” Matteo demanded when Sarah answered his call the next day.

“He left,” she dead-panned.

“What? What do you mean, 'he left'? Is that a euphemism for 'he couldn't get it up'?”

“No, it just means he left. He dropped me off and we kissed and then he left.”

“You cock-blocked him? This beggars belief!”

“No, Matteo, I didn't. He just left, what else do you want me to say?”

_Like, actually, he was a vampire and he tried to drink my blood and then the Goblin King came and vanquished him. Peachy._

“Sarah, this is weird. You go home with a burning hot male specimen of the heterosexual persuasion, with the intention of fucking his brains out, and he just leaves?”

“Weird things happen to me. Because I am weird. And weird is a side-effect of awesome. That's why you love me,” she joked.

She could almost hear him purse his lips through the phone.

“Very well. I shall not occupy your time further then,” he said in a dignified tone.

“Are we still on for Chtonia next week?” she asked.

“Indeed we still are,” he replied. “For I am not one to leave a lady waiting. Or wanting for that matter.”

“Matteo,” Sarah grinned, “you don't do pussy, or I would have dragged you to my bed already years ago.”

~~~

“Why are you wearing a turtle neck?” Laura asked when she saw Sarah. “It's bloody hot!”

Sarah's friend and colleague was wearing 'something close to nothing' herself. Sarah shook her head.

_Just add a raspberry beret and Prince can sing about you._

“Rash on my neck,” Sarah answered, as she knew Laura wouldn't shut up about it otherwise.

“A rash, hmm,” Laura commented, eyeing Sarah suspiciously. She got up and stalked over. “Let's see this rash, shall we?”

She grabbed the rim of Sarah's turtle neck and pulled it down with one hand, and used the other to fend off Sarah's hands trying to push her away.

“That's no rash, that's a hickey!” Laura squealed. “Someone has been keeping secrets! Who was it, Sarah, tell me everything!”

“Nobody, Laura, get off it,” Sarah said, annoyed, and pulled her friend's hands off her neck.

Sarah knew very well that she didn't have a rash. Nor a hickey. The red skin was shaped like Jareth's pendant. He had marked her as his. She had let him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some people pointed out to me that John and Miriam Blaylock (The Hunger, 1983) do not kill by biting. The movie doesn't even portray them with fangs. Instead, they use small blades hidden in their Ankh pendants to cut their victims, and drink their blood from the wound. I took some creative freedom here and made John into a more traditional vampire, as I needed Sarah to be oblivious to what was actually happening as long as possible. Had John (tried to) cut her, there would have been a messy struggle, and Jareth would have had to choose between killing John and saving Sarah from bleeding to death. If Jareth had shown up *just before* John used his pendant, there would have been no blood of Sarah for Jareth to claim after saving her. So yeah, anything for the plot :D


	7. Shine

“That's so wonderful! I am so happy for you both!” Sarah gushed at Misha and Farah, who had just told her they were getting married.

Farah was radiant in her new role as bride-to-be, and Misha looked like he could burst with pride.

Sarah's whole group of friends had gotten together for a lazy Sunday brunch at a new place in an up-and-coming part of town. Matteo had insisted on going there, as he despised eating at 'Le Pêché Mignon' on his days off.

“And so we all slowly devolve in to suburban traditionalism,” Matteo commented mockingly. He was just as happy as everyone else was, and would probably buy the biggest wedding gift he could find – if he wouldn't elbow himself into the organisation of the event first – but he just had to comment something snarky to 'assert his reputation'.

“If I ever get married,” Laura announced from her perch on Lucas' lap, “it will have to be an open marriage. I need variety.”

Sarah snorted. While Laura and Lucas still behaved as the sexual pranksters they were, she had noticed them going home together – without any additional bedmates – more and more often, and she suspected that the stories they currently told her of their exploits were re-tellings of earlier trysts.

“Sarah is the romantic soul among us, aren't you Sarah?” Lucas jokingly asked. “Still waiting for that knight in shining armour to whisk you away to his castle in the clouds,” he laughed.

Sarah shrugged. She wasn't particularly interested in marriage. Nor in having children. She wasn't in a rush to settle down.

“I would just like to _be_ with someone, never mind the form the relationship takes,” she said. “Someone who makes me tea in the morning, and cuddles me at night. Someone I love who loves me back.”

“Awww, so sweet,” Laura said, fawning dramatically over Sarah. “You just keeping hoping and waiting, darling. I will call the pound to let them know they can send all the stray cats your way.”

“All of you are forgetting that Sarah is a Queen,” Matteo stated. “A knight will not do for her. We need to find her a King.”

“Hey!” Sarah punched Matteo in the arm. “How did this conversation become about me? We need to talk parties: hen parties, stag parties, wedding parties!”

~~~

“Sarah, tea!!!”

Sarah woke with a start. Someone had called her name. Or had she just dreamed it?

“Sarah, rise and shine! Tea!!!” came the voice again.

Sarah's heart skipped a beat. She lived alone, had not brought any lovers home last night. Who the fuck was downstairs?

Silently, she slipped out of bed and into yesterday's pants and sweater. She tiptoed to the corner of the room and grabbed the baseball bat she kept there for emergencies. Such as this.

She walked down the stairs as silently as possible, avoiding those steps she knew creaked.

A tall, slender, blond man stood in her kitchen. His back was turned to her, he was pouring hot water into mugs.

“Who the fuck are you?” Sarah demanded, gripping the bat with both hands, ready to swing it if he attacked her.

“And a good morning to you too,” the man said without turning around.

He put the kettle back onto its hot plate and picked up the two mugs. Turning around, he almost dropped them.

“Jesus fucking Christ, Sarah, are you sleepwalking again?!”

“Who the fuck are you and what are you doing in my house?!”

She brandished the baseball bat to show she wasn't to be trifled with.

The man put the two mugs down and held up his hands in surrender.

“I am Jared Delutin. Your housemate? Your fiancé? Ring a bell?”

Sarah eyed him suspiciously. He looked familiar, although she couldn't quite remember how she might know him. But she was single, no doubt about that. What did one do when faced with an intruder?

_Play along. Get away from them. Alert the authorities._

She lowered the bat.

“Scared you there, didn't I?” she grinned. “You should have seen your face!”

“You sure did,” he agreed, and rolled his eyes. “Your warped pranks will kill me one of these days.”

She sat down at the kitchen table and he pushed one of the blue mugs towards her.

“Here, drink this, it'll clear your mind. I need to go to work, long shift today, I won't be back until after midnight.” He winked at her. “Please try to remember and don't smash my skull with that bat of yours when I walk in.”

She nodded and pretended to take a sip. He might have poisoned it.

The stranger walked around the table and kissed her on the cheek before she could move away. She stayed where she was until she heard her front door slam. Then she got up, closed the latches on the door, checked all the windows, and got her phone to call the police.

She typed in the number, but her thumb hoovered over the call icon without touching it. What was she going to tell them? That an intruder had introduced himself as her fiancé and made tea for her, then left to go to work? They would probably suggest she get her head checked.

She headed back to the kitchen. His DNA must be on the mugs, that would be proof.

There were no mugs on the kitchen table. The kettle was empty. She sniffed. The smell of freshly brewed tea, so strong just moments ago, was utterly absent.

_I really must be sleepwalking. This is just a dream._

It didn't feel like a dream. It felt very real. But dreams always felt real when you were dreaming.

She walked up the stairs to her bedroom, crawled back into bed, and closed her eyes.

_Let's try waking up for real this time._

~~~

“Sarah, tea!!!”

Sarah woke with a start. Someone had called her name. Or had she just dreamed it?

“Jesus fucking Christ, Sarah!” Laura exclaimed when she walked into their office, holding two large take-out cups, one with Early Grey tea for Sarah and one with black coffee for herself. “Did you not go home last night?”

Laura put the cups on her desk and walked over to her friend.

“Laura, what's going on?” Sarah said sleepily.

“You tell me,” her colleague said, her expression a mixture of worry and amusement. “You're wearing the clothes you wore yesterday, your hair is a mess, and your face looks like it's been smooching your keyboard.”

“Oh my God, Laura, I fell asleep at my desk?” Sarah rubbed the side of her face, it felt tender.

“Either that or you've been keeping secrets from me,” Laura confirmed, winking “You better go home early today, and come in late tomorrow. You look like you need it.”

Laura put the cup of hot tea on Sarah's desk.

“You're exhausted all the time it seems,” she said in a softer tone. “Anything you need to tell me?”

Sarah looked at her friend and remained silent for a few moments. Even if she wanted to, how could she explain what was going on? Goblin Kings and vampires. Dreams that were real and reality that was just a dream. Scenes from her fanfics trickling into her life. Laura would have her institutionalised.

“I'm fine, Laura, just not sleeping well,” she finally said. “Thank you for caring.”

Laura eyed her suspiciously, but didn't push the point.

~~~

Sarah dropped the bags of groceries on the kitchen table, then returned to the front door to close and lock it.

It had been a long day, people had looked at her with pity in their eyes. As she didn't have the excuse of small children keeping her awake, jokes of week-day partying by happy singles had flown back and forth. Until Laura had taken her side and told them all to fuck off as they were just jealous of Sarah's freedom.

Freedom. That was the word. She didn't feel free at all. She felt lost. She didn't know what to do, except let the story play itself out. Come what may. At least she had never written any fanfiction that included major character death.

She put the groceries away, heated up a bowl of soup and sat at the kitchen table scooping it up, unable to even read a magazine.

She left the bowl in the sink, checked the locks on the front door and the windows again – a mere formality, because she knew they wouldn't stop her antagonistic Underground monarch from entering her house. Or her thoughts. Or her dreams.

She dragged herself up the stairs, undressed and curled up in her bed. She was dead tired and truly wished for a night of rest.

~~~

Sarah was sleeping deeply when a movement behind her drew her consciousness close to the surface of waking.

“Hmm?”

“It's me.”

She felt a warm presence spoon her, and arm was draped over her side. She nestled into the comfort it gave her.

“Where have you been?” she asked without opening her eyes.

“I had to work late, I told you before I left.”

“What time is it?”

“After midnight. Sleep, Precious, you need your rest.”

“I love you,” she sighed, sinking into unconsciousness again.

“I love you too,” he said tenderly, but she was already too far gone and didn't hear him.


	8. Glow

“Are you ready? I am going to blindfold you now,” Laura said.

“Is this really necessary?” Sarah sighed.

It was Sarah's birthday and despite her vehement protests, Laura and Matteo had teamed up to organise a surprise party for her. Now they were at the backdoor of Chtonia – Sarah had managed to wrench at least that much information out of her friend – and Matteo was holding her bag and coat while Laura wrapped a black piece of fabric around Sarah's head.

“Don't be afraid, he's going to pick you up and carry you upstairs,” Laura's voice came from behind Sarah. The blindfold was very effective, Sarah couldn't see a thing, not even who 'he' was.

“Wait, what? No!” Sarah exclaimed and tried to pull the blindfold off, but the next moment she was lifted off her feet and cradled in strong arms and she automatically slung her own arms around the man's neck. At least he hadn't thrown her over his shoulder.

“We had a palanquin ready for you, but it didn't fit up the stairs, so this will have to do for our Queen,” Matteo said in an ironic tone.

Sarah sighed again. She better go with the flow, as she was no match on her own against these two tricksters. The entire gang was probably in on the joke.

She felt the man turning a corner and walk up another flight of stairs and wondered where they were going as she didn't remember Chtonia having more than one upper level.

“I would prefer to carry you to my bed,” Jareth's voice whispered in her ear and Sarah's heart skipped a beat. She only now noticed the feeling of silk under her fingers and the scent of leather and musk in her nose.

Before she could complain, she was put back on her feet and the blindfold was pulled off her face. She blinked as her eyes adjusted to the brightness.

“Surprise!” came the cheer from the gathering of guests. She saw Lucas, Misha, Farah, and another fifty-odd people she had never seen before, all dressed in elaborate costumes and crinolines.

“Where did all these people come from?” Sarah asked, confused.

Misha smiled at her and gestured at the man who had carried her. “Jared here leads a troupe of dancers who are figuring in a movie that features a ball. They are using your party to practice, and in doing so provide us with some decoration. You always said you wanted a costumed ball for your birthday.”

Sarah looked up at the Goblin King in his human glamour.

“So you are invited to my party it seems,” she said. “That means I cannot wish for you to leave.”

Jared – or rather Jareth – cocked his head and smiled in confirmation.

“You better behave,” she added. “No tricks. This story is about you and me only.”

“As you wish,” he agreed. “I would anyway be hard-pressed to find any innocents where you are concerned,” he added, grinning dangerously.

He held out his arm. “Come, my Queen.”

“What?” Sarah hadn't paid attention to her surroundings yet and only now noticed they were in a ballroom much larger than any of the upper rooms of Chtonia. It had a high vaulted ceiling and was sumptuously decorated. An iridescent glow made everything look like they were under water. She heard a faint, ethereal tingling, like a crystal wind chime, coming from somewhere. At the far end, an ornate chair – a throne – sat on a dais.

“Yes, yes, it's time for your gifts!” Laura yipped. She took Sarah's arm and folded it around Jareth's. Then she gave them both a push. “Go on you two, don't just stand here.”

Jareth led Sarah to the throne and she sat down, pretending to know what was going on. He remained standing on her left, arrogantly leaning on the high back of her seat, as if he owned the place. Sarah winced when she realised he probably did: they must be in his Castle, there was no other explanation.

Matteo came strutting across the room towards them. She raised her eyebrows at his attire: he was dressed like a courtier of Louis XIV. A perfectly coiffed white wig graced his otherwise bald head.

“Here is the finishing touch!” he said excitedly as he handed Sarah a large beribboned box. “Open it!”

Sarah untied the ribbon and lifted the lid. Inside she found a delicate silver tiara, set with diamonds and emeralds. It matched her dress and the costume jewellery Laura had lend her perfectly. She gingerly took it out of the box.

“Put it on!” Matteo encouraged her.

Sarah looked at the tiara again. This had to be costume jewellery, just rhinestones and glass. No way that these were real diamonds and emeralds. She lifted it up and placed it on her hair. It was light as a feather and fitted perfectly, as if it had been made for her.

Matteo clasped his hands and smiled widely. “Picture perfect!”

Laura showed up out of nowhere on Sarah's right and handed her an ornate hand mirror. “Just when I thought you couldn't look any more gorgeous,” she gushed.

Sarah looked at her reflection. Looking back at her wasn't the mortal woman she knew so well, but a Fæ Queen with raven hair and eyes that glowed with a green light. She turned the mirror and it caught Jareth's reflection behind her. Not his human glamour, his otherworldly Fæ beauty. Sarah was struck by how well they matched, despite their different looks.

Jareth bent towards her and whispered: “In case you were wondering, the Goblin Queen only wears real jewels.”

Sarah swallowed hard. Another of her favourite tropes, being dipped in jewels. If she were truly the heroine in her own story, she would refuse it all now. Throw the crown on the floor, rip the jewels from her neck and ears, flee. But she was frozen. Because the story could also go the other way. A ball. A dance. Seduction. Passion. She knew what was the 'right' thing to do. She also knew she wasn't going to do that.

She barely noticed her friends coming forward with gifts, which they left on the dais at her feet. Even the troupe of dancers passed before her couple by couple and paid her their respects. Misha said it was part of their routine for the movie and Sarah just mutely nodded.

The music started and Jareth held out his hand. “Come, my Queen, we are to open the ball with the first dance.”

When Sarah took his hand, she noticed his attire had changed. He was no longer wearing a human glamour, he was dressed as he had been that very first time they had danced. And he sang the same haunting song again while he swirled her across the room.

“Jareth, why...” Sarah started, but couldn't finish her sentence, her thoughts whirling like the room around her.

“Why am I showing myself?” he finished her question for her.

Sarah nodded.

“The dancers are from my Realm,” he explained. “As to your friends, I brought them here, so they can keep you company forever. A Queen needs ladies-in waiting and footmen. My gift to you. Happy birthday, Sarah.”

He stopped dancing, cupped her face and kissed her. Sarah was already kissing him back, letting the story continue into a smuttier direction, when the realisation hit her.

“Jareth, no, you have to let them go!” she exclaimed, pulling out of his embrace and taking a step back.

“They all followed me here willingly, ate my food, drank my wine,” he said, frowning. “Matteo even made me promise to invite him to our wedding.”

He looked Misha and Farah dancing with stars in their eyes. “They seem perfectly happy to be here.” Then his gaze fell on Lucas and Laura, kissing, and he licked his lips. “Those two will fit in particularly well.”

Sarah looked wide-eyed at the Goblin King, not knowing which of the shocking bits of information he just revealed to her, needed her reaction first.

“I am not marrying you!” she said, her shock turning into fury.

“Too late, Sarah,” he smirked. “You accepted the Goblin Queen's crown. That makes you my wife.”

Sarah swallowed hard. She had known this, somewhere deep inside her, when she had put that tiara on her head. She hadn't listened to her instincts and ignored her safety.

“At least let my friends go,” she pleaded, hoping to save at least their lives. “They didn't know what they were getting into.”

“That's on you then,” he sneered. “After all, this is your story.”

“I will stay if you let them go!”

Jareth pursed his lips. “Always the righteous heroine, sacrificing herself for others,” he mocked. “One of your tropes I'm not very fond of. It's too much of a guilt-trip.”

“Please Jareth,” Sarah begged. “If I really am to be your Queen, grant me my wish.”

He didn't answer. He held her gaze and she saw his features become sharper, more menacing. More real. More Fæ. His eyes burned with blue fire.

Sarah felt the ambient temperature rise, it became harder to breathe as the smell of melting wax filled her nose and mouth. She tore her eyes away from Jareth's. Around her the iridescent glow turned into the yellow glare of a furnace. The decorations started dripping, the legs of the throne bending, the back folding onto the seat.

Then she saw the dancers shrink back into the goblins they really were, leaving only herself, Jareth, and her five friends standing in the large room that glistened and dripped, the floor slowly getting covered in rivulets of wax.

The temperature rose higher still.

She saw Matteo turn to her, a surprised look on his face. He looked at his hands and Sarah saw his fingers bending backwards, then falling in gobs to the floor.

Horrified she looked at her other friends, and saw them all turning into grotesque versions of themselves, slowly liquefying, their features pulled out of proportion as they were reduced to puddles of coloured wax.

~~~

Sarah woke with a scream, drenched in sweat. The sun was glaring through the window, she had forgotten to close the curtains. It was bloody hot in her bedroom and she threw the covers off. Her heart was racing.

_Fuck. A nightmare. Just a dream. Calm down Sarah._

She breathed deeply a couple of times, got up and opened the window, letting some fresh air in. She went to the bathroom, took a long shower, and dressed.

Then she called Laura.

“Hello?” came her friend's sleepy answer on the seventh ring.

“Laura, it's Sarah.”

“Hey girl, what's up?” Laura answered in a low voice and Sarah could hear her yawn.

“Laura, what are you planning for my birthday?”

“Not telling. It's a surprise!”

“Laura, seriously, tell me what you are planning, now,” Sarah said regally.

“Aw, Queen,” Laura pouted. “You're no fun.”

“Look, if you don't want to tell me, then me that you are not inviting any strangers,” Sarah said in a softer tone. “And certainly not that blond guy from Chtonia.”

“You really are hung up on that one, aren't you?” Laura mocked. “Maybe I _should_ invite him, get it out of your system.”

“Laura, promise me,” Sarah insisted.

“I promise,” Laura agreed. “But only because you asked so nicely.”

“Thanks, Laura, you're dismissed,” Sarah laughed. “I have to go now, Matteo is calling me.

Sarah hung up and tapped the icon to accept the incoming call from her other friend.

“That fucking moron!” she heard Matteo yell.

“Who and why?” she asked.

“That bloody fucking brainless jackass of a sous chef! He can't fucking co-ordinate his own fucking limbs and spilled a fucking terrine of fucking soup fucking all over me! My hands fucking look like they were fucking melted!”

“Melted?” Sarah asked, suddenly afraid.

“Well, yes, figure of speech. Bloody fucking bastard! He fucking should be fired!”

“Matteo, will you be all right?” Sarah pressed the phone against her ear, her other hand gripping the hem of her blouse.

“Yes, yes, doc says there will be redness and swelling for a week or so, but no permanent scarring. I was quick enough to cool them in ice water.”

“I am coming over, stay right where you are, Matteo,” she said, knowing she had to see his hands for herself before she could calm down.

“I'm not going anywhere. Bring doughnuts!”


	9. Passion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't have inspiration for lemons when I wrote this chapter - I may add something later (no promise). But the fic that is referred to is my other story called "Fingers" (yes, I referred to my own fic, I do what I want) and you could read it for the shot of smut that is alluded to. Enjoy!

Sarah found herself once more in the Castle beyond the Goblin City. But it was neither the throne room nor the Library that formed her surroundings this time.

She stood in a private chamber, the high windows sumptuously draped with velvet curtains tied back with thick braided ropes, the furniture dark and heavy, but perfectly matched.

But she wasn't there to admire Jareth's taste in home décor, of that much she was quite convinced. Because what was occupying her entire view was a large round bed strewn with pillows and cushions, and looking as soft as a bird's nest.

The Goblin King was reclining against the headboard. Bare-chested and very aware of the eyeful he was giving Sarah, wearing pants so tight they might as well have been painted onto his long legs.

“Why am I here, Jareth?”

“You know why. Your story brought you here.”

“Some story,” Sarah sneered. “You messed with my dreams and with my reality. Half of what happened I barely remember.”

He raised an eyebrow and smirked. “Well, good I wrote it all down for you then.”

He got up off the bed, and slowly walked in her direction, muscles rippling under his pale skin.

Sarah's legs were not sure if they had to move towards him or away from him, so she wobbled for a moment, then found her balance again and crossed her arms.

He pulled the little black book out of thin air and handed it to her.

“It's all here, Sarah,” he said. “You chose the way the story developed. I merely followed your lead.”

Sarah slowly flipped through the tome and saw everything that had happened written on its formerly blank pages. Everything, from her wish in the Swiss bookshop, to the call with Matteo about his burned hands.

“So you took me on a wild goose chase, using my fanfiction as inspiration,” she said. “I hope you had fun. Are we done? Can I go now?”

“There is still a chapter missing. Loose ends to be wrapped up,” he said, circling her.

Sarah had a hard time ignoring her visceral reaction to his powerful scent of leather and musk. She knew exactly what he meant with that. Every story she wrote had a smutty chapter. It hadn't happened at the beginning, nor in the middle of the story. So it had to happen at the end. It wouldn't be complete without it.

But if she gave in to him, he would win. He would have it all. Her mind and her body.

“Look at all I have done for you, Sarah,” he said, tapping the open book in her hands. “Once again, I lived up to all your expectations.”

The pages of the book started flipping over as if moved by a breeze. Gossamer shapes rose up from the paper as he spoke.

“You wanted a story, I gave you a book.” The owlish face of the bookseller smiled at her.

“You wanted an villainous antagonist, I donned that mantle.” A miniature Goblin King circled a tiny Sarah in the Library.

“You wanted to resist temptation, I tempted you.” For a brief second she felt the cool air of his fan again.

“You were hungry, I fed you.” The taste of moelleux au chocolat filled her mouth.

“You wanted a gentleman, I rose to the occasion.”

Sarah blushed at how he had made sure she got home safely after their dinner. She hadn't thought he had it in him.

He cocked his head at her.

“At first, I didn't quite get what you wanted with that vampire. 'Damsel in distress' never did become you. But then I understood you wanted your villain – me – to have a redeemable quality. So, I saved your life.”

Sarah looked up at Jareth at his last words. If anything, she was grateful for that. Then she remembered how he had turned that situation also to his advantage. Tricked her.

She was about to say something when he held up a hand, silencing her.

“You _willingly_ gave me your blood and let me claim you as my own.” He stroked two fingers over the mark in her neck.

Sarah frowned, but he wasn't done yet. The pages flipped to Jared Delutin standing in her kitchen.

“You wanted a companion and I was by your side.”

She had been half asleep, but when the book showed her Jared again, crawling into bed with her and cuddling her, she heard her own words in her mind: 'I love you'.

“And last but not least, you wished to be Queen, and I gave you a crown.”

Her face as she had seen it in the mirror at her birthday ball smiled back at her.

Sarah closed the book and looked at Jareth.

“What is this last chapter going to be about then? A debt repaid? A reward collected? A marriage consummated?”

“It all comes down to the same thing. A passion shared.” He cupped her chin and made her look into his eyes. She saw arrogant smugness in them. He wasn't going to take no for an answer.

Sarah knew instinctively that if she slept with him, she would be bound to him forever. She could have walked away at any time in this story, but once that happened, there was no way back. That's how she wrote her stories, stubborn romantic that she was.

_And they lived happily ever after. Fuck._

“What is it, precious Sarah?” he asked. “The story doesn't please you?”

Sarah tore her eyes away from his and walked to the window, trying to buy a few moments to think. If this really was her story, if he really was following her lead through the fanfiction she had written over the years, her best option was to make this last chapter into something she would actually enjoy.

Sarah dug into her memory and found a very old tale. One she had written on a dark and lonely night, when skin hunger had kept her awake. If he really did read her mind, he should take the hint.

She heard him growl behind her.

“Taking without giving, Sarah? How selfish of you,” he snarled.

“It's my story, Jareth,” she retorted. “Read until the end.”

She felt him come closer, felt his fingers play with her hair like in the fic she was remembering. She sighed with something akin to relief when he wrapped his arms around her.

“Very well, let's see where _this_ chapter takes us then.”

She let him undress her, let him carry her to his bed. Let him take her to where she had never gone before, and then beyond.

And even if he didn't follow the letter of her fic, he certainly acted in the spirit of it.

Satisfaction guaranteed.

~~~

Sarah stood on the balcony of Jareth's bedchamber, looking out over the Labyrinth, which glowed in the rays of the rising sun. She had wrapped herself in his owl-feather cloak.

She felt the presence of the Goblin King behind her, but she didn't turn around when he wrapped his arms around her.

“So, this is how the story ends, how my _life_ ends?” she asked, thinking of how she would never see her friends and family again. She was the Goblin Queen now, Jareth's wife. Forever. Forever and ever.

“Endings have the potential to be beginnings,” he said soothingly.

“I could wish for this story to un-happen,” she suggested. “You can change time and make me go back to how it was before.”

“But then another story will happen,” he warned. “Wishes cannot be undone, they have to be fulfilled.”

She realised that by making all these wishes to create her story, she had bound him to her just as she was now bound to him.

“I never meant to do this to you, Jareth,” she said with sadness in her voice, brining her hands up to caress his arms. “All these wishes, all these stories, I wasn't even aware of how much I expected of you,” she added. “It's exactly as you once said. Once I let you rule me, you became my slave. We hold each other captive.”

He didn't reply, but just stood there with her, looking out over the Kingdom that was now hers as much as his.

“Do you love me, Jareth?”

“Your wish for me to love you has been so strong all along, all the magic in the Underground couldn't resist its force.”

Not the answer she had hoped for, but it didn't surprise her either.

“If you love someone, you set them free,” she quoted.

“It's too late to wish for your freedom, Sarah. You are mine now. You will never be free. You don't want to be.”

She turned around in his arms, put her hand against his cheek and looked into his blue eyes. Eyes that held aeons of stories and worlds of wishes. A soft smile curled her lips.

“I wish to set _you_ free.”


	10. Freedom - Epilogue

Sarah walked leisurely along the winding cobblestone streets. The afternoon was pleasantly warm and she was in no rush to go anywhere.

When the publishing house had offered her a job at their branch in Montpellier, France, she had jumped on the opportunity. She had been up for an adventure, new people, new horizons.

There had been sadness about leaving her old life, her friends, and her family behind, but she felt much better now, the dreams that had disturbed her sleep and clouded her days for so long had ceased the moment she had set foot on European soil.

Her new-found freedom had opened the gates of her inspiration and she had landed her first book deal – under a pen name – with a small publisher, specialised in fantasy and science fiction.

Meeting Corentin had been an unexpected bonus. The dark-haired and tanned Frenchman was everything she could wish for: kind and respectful, an avid reader and dancer, with a sense of humour that was compatible with hers.

He had proposed to her in the most romantic fashion possible: at a folk ball, in the middle of a sensual mazurka. And she had said 'yes' without hesitation.

Now they were honeymooning in Switzerland, Corentin treating her like a Queen, and Sarah having trouble keeping her hands and lips off him.

“Hey, where did you disappear to?” she said as she saw her husband come out of a small alley.

“Occupe-toi de tes oignons,” he grinned at her and took her arm. “Let's go back to the hotel, ma reine, we can have tea by the Lake.”

Corentin smiled, content with the surprise gift for his wife. The old man in the small shop had told him he was closing down and had sold him the book for a pittance. A dark tale of magic and love with a twisted ending. Sarah would love it.

~~~

Sarah awoke with a gasp, her eyes wide, but blind in the near total darkness. Her hand found the sleeping form next to her and shook it.

“Wake up, wake up, please!”

“What is it, Precious?” came the muffled answer.

“That nightmare again. Of living with that other one. Without you.” Her voice trembled, tears rolled down her cheeks.

He took her in his arms.

“Shush, it was just a dream, it wasn't real,” he soothed.

“Please don't leave me.”

“I won't. I am here. You are here with me.”

“Forever? Forever and ever?”

“We will always be together. You are my Queen.”

She held him tighter and he caressed her until he sensed her breathing slowing, sleep overtaking her once more.

He cradled her relaxed body against his.

“Forever. Not long at all. Sarah-mine.”


End file.
